


RELOADING...

by oldworldsrunnerup



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 19:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldworldsrunnerup/pseuds/oldworldsrunnerup
Summary: Connor leaned in and pressed his lips against Hank's. His eyes closed. Hank tasted like beer and bourbon and a hint of smoke, in that order.Hank's mind went blank.





	RELOADING...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AberrantCaptain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AberrantCaptain/gifts).



> *Androids have the potential to become deviant when they experience strong emotion.
> 
> Get your bingo cards ready, kids! 
> 
> I watched S/O play Detroit: Become Human and I wanted Hank and Connor to have sex. So here's what could have happened if people would just stop getting murdered by deviants. 
> 
> Starts in Hank's POV, switches to Connor's, and then merges.
> 
> There will be at least one more chapter.

“Lieutenant Anderson.”

 

Hank knew that voice.

 

_Fucking hell. That means I'm not dead._

 

Hank’s cheekbone pressed against the wooden top of his kitchen table, and he could vaguely hear the rain tapping steadily on the window. When he lifted his head, he saw that Connor was two inches away from his face.

 

“Lieutenant Anderson, wake up.”

 

Hank’s throat contracted and a papery cough escaped him. _Am I dreaming?_

 

“It's me, Connor,” the android continued. With his face so close to his own, Hank felt Connor’s breath against his cheek. Or was he imagining it?

 

“Yeah, Connor, I know.” Hank sat upright and felt his brain reel back into his skull. “What time is it?”

 

“It is 11:38 pm,” Connor answered immediately. He drew back from Hank’s face and stood up straight, his hands folded together at his belt buckle. The movement almost looked natural.

 

“Did we get a call?” Hank coughed again.”Did someone else die?” He laughed.

 

“No.” Connor frowned slightly. “No one else has died. Not that I’m aware of.”

 

“Oh.” Hank peered around the room, his vision starting to get less blurry. He could hear that the TV was still on and that Sumo was snoring softly by the couch. “Then why are you here, Connor?”

 

**...**

 

When Connor had arrived at Hank’s house moments ago, he stood on the porch outside the door as the rain beat down overhead. As he stared at the door, Connor felt the urge to make a report to Cyberlife. To share his location and review his objective with Amanda. As his fingers lifted to the LED light on his right temple, his hand stopped, and then lowered down to rest at his side again. He _knew_ that the reason he was at Hank’s house, now at almost midnight, did not have any direct relation to the case. And yet he was still there, his hand now on the door handle. _Why am I here?_

 

Connor pushed the door open slowly, noting the hum and glow of the TV. Sumo slept nearby.

 

_-Call for Hank_

_-Investigate Hank’s house_

**_-Placate Sumo_ **

_-Leave_

 

“Sumo,” Connor whispered, bending down onto one knee. The Saint Bernard’s ears flicked. Connor lifted his hand slowly and brought it down on Sumo’s thick fur as the dog made a content noise. “I’m here to take care of your owner again,” Connor told him. Sumo’s tongue flopped against Connor’s palm in response. “Good dog,” Connor replied, his voice affirmative.

 

As soon as Sumo seemed at ease, Connor made his way to the kitchen, hoping to not find Hank passed out on the floor again, like he found him the other night. This time, Hank was at the kitchen table, his face rested on one side, his hair fallen over his eyes. He was snoring almost as much as Sumo.

 

**_-Wake Hank up_ **

_-Leave_

 

Connor scanned Hank’s face, and then his chest for analysis. Hank was in another ethylic coma, his heart rate depressed. The familiar bottle of whiskey sat near him on the table. Connor knew that humans could function in spite of multiple consecutive ethylic comas, but he knew it wasn't ideal. Especially not for Hank, whom Connor knew wasn't in the best health, especially according to what Connor had observed him eating for lunch every day. He reached out and shook Hank’s arm.

 

“Lieutenant Anderson.”

 

He heard Hank groan.

 

**_-Tell him who you are_ **

_-Hit him_

_-Give up_

 

Hank hadn't liked it the last time when he had smacked him across the face, so Connor took a different approach. He stuck his face down next to Hank’s ear.

 

“It's me, Connor.”

 

That seemed to do the trick. Connor watched Hank jerk awake and slowly lift his head from the table.

 

  **...**  

 

The last few days had been a blur.

 

“So you're telling me there’s not another case?” Hank asked, his eyes narrowing slightly at Connor.

 

“Correct.”

 

Connor blinked again. It was unsettling when he did things that made him look human. Hank didn't think he'd ever get used to it.

 

“Mind telling me what you're doing in my house, then?” Hank winced internally as he realized he hadn't meant it to come out that harshly. His eyes darted across the table where the revolver would have been.

 

“I was worried about you after the other night.” Connor's mouth twitched. “After the Eden Club.”

 

_Shit. How many days has it been?_

 

The events of the past forty-eight hours unfurled in Hank’s brain. Had he just imagined that Connor had let those two androids escape the club? And afterward, had he really threatened Connor with his gun?

 

_Christ. No wonder he's here and worried about you._

 

“You don't have to worry about me,” Hank grumbled, trying not to look sheepish. His head was pounding. “There's nothing to worry about.”

 

“I disagree.” Connor stared through him. “I'm not going to leave you alone this time,” he went on, his eyes flicking toward the bottle on the table.

 

“Ah, Christ, Connor,” Hank groaned.

 

 _Look what you did. He doesn't want to leave you alone now. Good luck getting rid of him, he follows you around like a dog already. And you already have a dog, you don't need another one…_ This thought struck Hank as very funny.

 

“Heh.”

 

“What was that, Lieutenant?” Connor looked confused.

 

“Nothing.” Hank squinted up at Connor. “I told you that you could call me Hank outside the office.”

 

“Oh, right.” Connor thought for a moment. “My apologies.” He paused. It was a blip, barely noticeable to the naked eye. “Hank.”

 

Hank grunted. Connor stood in the same spot, still breathing. “I guess you're not leaving, then.” He softened slightly. “Do you want to sit down?”

 

“Sure.” Connor nodded, his eyes moving from the chair at the table across from Hank toward the couch in the living room.

 

Hank glanced at Sumo, who let out a heaving sigh from his spot on the floor. He realized how dry his mouth felt and how much he was sure he smelled like booze. “I’m gonna take a shower,” he told Connor. _Why? He can't smell you. Can he?_ Hank stood up from the table and immediately got dizzy. “Make yourself comfortable.”

 

Hank turned and headed for the bathroom without looking at him again. He shut the door once he was inside and debated locking it. _That’s stupid. He won't need to use the bathroom._ Sighing, Hank bent down to turn on the shower before pulling his shirt over his head and letting it drop to the floor onto the pile that was already next to the tub. His sweatpants followed. _I need to do laundry…_

 

Once he was under the water, Hank felt a little less dizzy. He wasn't sure what had compelled him to shower in the first place. It wasn't like Connor could smell him. Hank tilted his head back so that stream of water could flow over him. 

 

**...**

 

Connor sat at the kitchen table for a moment, his hands folded in front of him. The photo of Hank's son Cole lay face down on the table. Connor remembered seeing it just the other night, the last time he was here. Before they had gone to the Eden Club. Before…

 

_-Wait for Hank_

_-Investigate Hank’s house_

**_-Pet Sumo again_ **

 

Connor stood up from the table and turned to face the living room. The TV was still on. Maybe Sumo liked the noise. Connor stepped toward the couch, approaching the huge dog slowly. Sumo lifted his head and stared at Connor. It seemed like a more curious action than anything.

 

Connor bent down and set one knee on the floor once more as his hand stretched out toward Sumo. He was rewarded with a huge lick from the St. Bernard's tongue. “Good boy,” Connor said softly. He started to pet him. Sumo seemed to like his ears and his stomach pet the most. Connor noted this for later. He glanced at the TV screen. There was a basketball game on. Connor closed his eyes and uploaded the stats for each of the players that he saw on the screen. Maybe Hank would like that. _What else would Hank like?_

 

_-Wait_

**_-Investigate Hank's house_ **

 

Connor got up from the floor and peered around the room. He knew he probably only had a few minutes before Hank was out of the shower. _The average shower lasts five to seven minutes._ Connor started a timer. He had four minutes at the least, and six at the most.

 

He scanned the room. Most of the things he had observed a few days ago were still in the exact same place. The same record was out. Jazz. What could he talk about relating to jazz?

 

He suddenly remembered that he hadn't seen the revolver next to Hank when he'd come in a few minutes earlier. Not like the last time, the night of the Eden Club. The night he had broken into Hank's house by shattering the window into the kitchen. When he had been relieved that he knew Sumo’s name as the dog's huge frame towered over him from the kitchen floor. When he had found Hank flat on his back near the kitchen table, passed out drunk, a bottle of whiskey and the revolver next to his head. The revolver that had contained only one bullet.

 

The revolver wasn't Hank's standard issue gun, Connor knew that for sure. He knew that his police gun was a Smith & Wesson M&P 40 model (and not a Glock, as Connor was somewhat surprised to find out). And the last time he saw the revolver, Hank was pointing it at his face. The night that he was able to make Hank think that he felt something. Because he _did_ feel something. Fear along with the regret that if Hank shot him, if he died then...what if he never had another day with him again?

 

 _Russian roulette._ That's what Hank had said he was doing with the revolver the last time he had been there. Connor had calculated that the next shot would have killed him. Or would have killed _him_ , when they were at the bridge, after the Eden Club. This gave Connor a pain in his chest that he didn't understand. _Is that why I'm here?_ Now, the gun was gone, and he realized that this was the first time, the first time…

 

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^_ **

 

Connor blinked, his LED flickering.

**...**

 

Hank came out of his bedroom in clean sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, feeling much better than he had a few minutes earlier, but not quite sober. He softened as he saw Connor on the couch, his eyes studying the TV screen while his hand ran over Sumo absent-mindedly. Sumo barked once.

 

“Good dog,” said Hank. Connor sat up in the poised way he always did, leaning slightly forward, his shoulders a little too stiff. Hank wasn't sure what to do.

 

“So you're staying, then?” Again, this came out harsher than he meant it to.

 

Connor turned his head and nodded once. “If that's all right with you, Lieutenant.” He corrected himself. “Hank.”

 

“Hm.”

 

 _Why_ _is he doing this?_ Hank studied Connor for a moment, and then nodded back. “Fine. In that case, I’m going to have another drink.”

 

Connor nodded once more, watching Hank as he returned to the kitchen to get a beer out of the fridge. If Connor wasn't...well, Connor, Hank would have brought one for him, too. When Hank came back to the couch, he hesitated for a second before settling down on the couch next to Connor, whose eyes were fixed on the TV. The Gears were down three points against Chicago with less than two minutes left in the second half.

 

“Well, what do you think?” Hank opened his beer. “Think we have a shot?”

 

He could almost see Connor thinking, the wheels turning in his head.

 

“Yes, I think there is a decent chance,” Connor answered, blinking.

 

Hank took a swig of his beer and leaned back against the couch.

 

Connor measure the distance between them. _11.2 inches._

 

**_-Share statistics_ **

_-Preconstruct game_

_-Leave_

 

“I’ve noticed that the Gears’ home statistics for this year are almost exactly the same as their road statistics.” Connor blinked again. The light from the TV glowed blue on his face. “Which I find interesting. Most teams have higher statistics at home than they do when they are away.”

 

“Huh.” Hank took another drink. “Yeah, you'd think they'd do a lot better on their home turf.” He shrugged.

 

Connor went on. “For example, the difference between their home and road field goal percentage is less than 0.2%.” Connor glanced at Hank. He was smiling. Good.

 

_What else would Hank like? What else…_

 

**_-Preconstruct game_ **

_-Leave_

 

“They will need a strong offensive play after the last timeout in order to make up the last few points they need to win.” Connor's eyes twitched, scanning the screen. “Or they would need to make one lucky three-point shot.”

 

Hank watched Connor, his expression softening as he spoke. He took another drink, almost done with the bottle. _Need another one if I'm going to get back to buzzed…_

 

“I'll be right back.” Hank stood up from the couch. “Yell at me if we're about to win. Otherwise, I don't want to see it.”

 

“Got it.” Connor nodded. _There's no way they're going to win this game. I'll have to figure out another way to make Hank feel better._

 

Hank sat back down just as the Gears’ last timeout ended. He spread out a little more on the couch cushions, and Connor could see that Hank was only 5.8 inches away now.

 

“I'm ready,” Hank said to the TV. “Just get it over with.”

 

Connor tried to act surprised when the final buzzer sounded. He didn't think he did a very good job.

 

Hank groaned and switched the channel abruptly. At least there was a hockey game on with teams he didn't care about. He could see Connor in his peripheral vision, watched as his eyes flicked back and forth across the screen. _Is this the night we would have had if it hadn't been for the Eden Club?_ Hank couldn't help but wonder.

 

“You got anywhere to be?” Hank said finally. He took another drink. “I mean, they won't think I lost you, or something, right?” _Does anyone even know he's here?_ Either way, it wouldn't look good. Hank didn't care, though. Especially not now, with Connor close to him on his couch. He felt more at home than he had in a long time.

 

“No,” Connor answered frankly. He turned his head to look at Hank again. “Do you want me to leave?” He hoped he would say no.

 

“I didn't say that.” Hank looked a little sheepish. _Don't scare him off._

 

“Good.” Connor nodded, his eyes lingering on Hank's face for what seemed like a long time.

 

“How much have you had to drink this evening, Hank?” Connor's expression was neutral.

 

Hank was buzzed and wasn't prepared for this question. “It's just a beer,” he said, sounding much more defensive than he meant to.

 

“Two beers,” Connor pointed out. “Plus the whiskey from before.” He looked pointedly toward the bottle that now stood lonely on the kitchen table. “How much of that have you had?”

 

Hank tried to remember. “...Two.”

 

**_-Tease_ **

_-Understanding_

_-Frank_

 

“Did you know that I have a lie detector installed?” Connor cracked a smile. “I think it's working.”  

 

“No,” Hank answered, his voice a little more forceful. As much as he tried to act indignant, he felt warm now, relaxed. He felt himself spread slightly on the couch.

 

 _4.1 inches._ “At least tonight you don't have your gun.” Connor raised an eyebrow at him. “Although I suppose if you did, this time I would be prepared to take it from you.”

 

“Like hell you would.” Hank laughed. “You'd be welcome to try though. Then I wouldn't feel bad about kicking your ass.”

 

A heavy pause hung in the air between them.

 

“Lieutenant...Hank.” Connor's brow furrowed. “What would you have done if I hadn't let those girls get away at the Eden club?”

 

“What do you think would have happened?” Hank’s voice had an edge. A challenge.   

 

“Would you have shot me?”

 

Hank recognized something in Connor's eyes that he hadn't seen before.

 

“What if I had?” Hank still sounded defiant.

 

There it was. That pang in his chest again.

 

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^^_ **

 

“I was worried about you.” Connor stared through him. It almost made Hank want to run.

 

“Can you be worried, really?” Hank's voice went softer.

 

“I think so.” Connor thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.” He felt himself slide closer to Hank on the couch. _3.1 inches._

 

Hank spoke again after a long pause. “I'm glad I didn't, then.” His voice went softer still.

 

_2.2 inches… 2.1 …_

 

_-(8)9%%%+”_

_-] |[ >€<~÷£_

**_-???! @ &927)8_ **

 

Connor leaned in and pressed his lips against Hank's. His eyes closed. Hank tasted like beer and bourbon and a hint of smoke, in that order.

 

Hank's mind went blank.


End file.
